Chapter 2

“We’re out of chips,” Addie said, raising the empty bag into the air when I returned from my shower later that evening.

“You don’t even live here,” I sang in response. I walked into the kitchen, pulling a mug from the cabinet and fishing a wine bottle full of blood from the back of the fridge.

“I do, and I say we’re out of chips,” Willa chimed in from where she sat next to Addie on the couch.

“What am I, your mother?” I asked as I filled the mug and put it in the microwave.

“You are two hundred years older than us,” Addie replied.

I flipped them off, corking the bottle and returning it to the fridge.

My friends fell quiet, entranced by their reality TV show, while I finished warming my mug of blood. When it finished, I padded across the room and slipped under the fleece blanket next to Willa—careful to keep the smell of blood away from Addie, though she wrinkled her nose anyway. Next to me, Willa took a deep breath and black veins rippled across her eyes; she did her best to suppress her growl of frustration, though it escaped despite her control.

I extended the mug toward her. Willa had only been a vampire for seven months and struggled with controlling her desire for blood—as all new vampires did. I didn’t remember her drinking anything that morning, either.

“It’s okay.” Willa shook her head, though her gaze drifted to my mug again.

I nudged her shoulder. “Take it, I’ll make another.”

Willa gave in and took the mug from me. “Thank you.”

Addie glanced over at our friend, frowning when Willa let out an exasperated breath. Her fangs extended and she shook her head a few times to get rid of them before sipping the blood I offered, only for them to return the instant it touched her tongue. Addie wasn’t the least bit phased, sitting back on the couch and plucking a strawberry from the bowl between them.

I walked back to the kitchen to make a second mug. While I waited for it to warm, I watched my friends across the room. Willa was still uncomfortable with her vampiric features, but when Addie burst into laughter at something on TV, she relaxed and followed suit. Addie offered Willa a strawberry and nudged her shoulder happily. Willa’s shoulders loosened further and she rested her head on Addie’s for half a second before taking another sip.

My aching heart swelled. Even if we all fell into each other’s lives, these girls were my universe. My best friends.

I prayed I wouldn’t lose them.

Hours later, my brother arrived to pick Addie up. The three of us were knee-deep in a new romance series about a couple who secretly loved each other for twenty years before they could be together. Tears streamed down Addie”s and my faces while Willa gripped the blanket between her hands with a strangled cry.

Holland let himself into my apartment with his key, surveying the room. He hadn’t styled his light brown hair, and it fell in haphazard waves, a long strand hanging down into the middle of his forehead. His brown eyes widened, and he pursed his lips. “What is going on?” he asked, amused.

Addie extended one hand toward the TV. “They waited so long to have each other, and now she’s dead!”

Holland snorted, crossing the room to kiss Addie on the forehead. He moved to wipe away her tears, but Willa pushed him onto the couch. “I can’t see the TV,” she growled.

We all laughed, and Holland sprawled out with Addie, resting his head on her thighs. I glanced over at them through my red tears, feeling a familiar pang in my chest when I thought about what I’d left behind in Rome.

No one knew about Pierre. I hadn’t told Holland about him when I agreed to move to Paris. When he asked if I would be up for it, I told him it was time for someplace new. He didn’t ask any more questions, and I didn’t give any more information.

Three years was a long time to love someone.

I tried to focus on the screen, but Pierre’s voice kept flitting through my mind.

“When was the last time you were sick?”

“There was blood on your hand; I swear, I saw it.”

“Where were you last night?”

Months of questions rushed through my mind, pieces clicking into place as Pierre realized I wasn’t who, or what, he thought I was. I was never injured; my wounds always healed before he noticed them. I broke my wrist falling off Ghost about a year ago, and Pierre panicked from across the arena. By the time he reached me, I’d already snapped the bone back into place.

Six months ago, he was looking through old pictures from the beginning of our relationship—a few instant photos I’d taken for fun. He narrowed his eyes at one and took a breath.

“You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

I’d played it off, telling him I was only twenty-four, not sixty. But after three more glasses of wine, I caught him watching me cautiously. That was when I knew it was time to go.

Willa was lucky. The man she loved was a vampire; they would spend forever together—frozen in time and eternally in love. Wren, though, rarely came around when I was at home.

Because, in 1926, yet another time I’d shattered my heart by leaving behind a man I loved, Wren was the body I left in my wake. I’d been desperate to leave that city—leave the country—and I was crying so hard I wasn’t watching where I was driving.

My car slid in the rain. It collided with Wren’s.

I shivered at the memory of the dying man I tried to save.

“Earth to Sophie.” Willa’s voice brought me back to the present.

I blinked rapidly, realizing Holland and Addie were standing, and the TV show paused.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Addie said with a wink. “We’ll be going now.”

I waved my hand. “Don’t be gross.”

Addie and Willa laughed. Holland rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see you tomorrow at the Louvre!” Willa chirped.

“Day twenty-one.” Addie winked in reply, blowing Willa a kiss. Willa caught it dramatically and smashed her hand against her face.

I said goodbye to my brother and best friend without getting off the couch. Willa announced a few minutes later that she was going to visit Wren. When she asked if I would be okay alone, I resisted the urge to remind her I was used to being alone. Instead, I sent her off and turned on a movie to watch alone.

The silence when they were all gone was suffocating.